


Care

by pressdbtwnpages



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Columbus Blue Jackets, Detroit Red Wings, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, THE SOFTEST THING, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressdbtwnpages/pseuds/pressdbtwnpages
Summary: Fic about the April 3, 2018 Red Wings at Blue Jackets game where Zach got hurt during a shift where Dylan was also on the ice.





	Care

It’s harder than it maybe should be for Dylan to separate what he feels for Zach-the-love-of-his-life and for Zach-his-opponent.

Zach and Dylan are their own team of two, have been for a long time, and it feels counterintuitive to try to beat Zach. It’s like trying to beat himself.

On the other hand, playing against Zach means seeing Zach. Usually means hanging out with Zach. This time they got to watch UMich in the NCAA basketball finals together. Michigan lost, but Zach pressed Dylan into his bed and kissed him anyway.

So, the Red Wings are in Columbus and they’re scoring and scoring, which at this point in the season - three games left - they are not really supposed to be doing. They’re not tanking, exactly, they’re playing strategically to get the most they can out of what has been a pretty shitty season.

By the end of the first they’re up 3-1 and the locker room is raucous with it. No one wants to stop scoring.

The Jackets keep sending Zach out to defend against Dylan. Probably it is just line-matching, top line defenders against top scoring line, but it kind of feels like Tortarella is personally attacking Dylan. 

He has to resist the urge to check Zach just to touch him, to get into his space and keep him pinned.

Dylan isn’t on the ice when the Wings score their fourth goal, but he is on the ice a few minutes later when Zach goes down.

He has the puck close to the Columbus goal and Zach is chasing him, chirping easy little comments his way, so Dylan passes to Andreas who is right behind him. Zach falls down, which, learn to keep your wheels under you, bud. Dylan hears a stick slap the puck and then he hears a thud and Zach groans.

Dylan winces, because blocking shots sucks and probably Zach will be grumpy about it later.

But Zach isn’t getting up. Zach has rolled onto his stomach and isn’t moving. Clenched tight and unmoving, he’s the opposite of the slack sprawl of the still Zach Dylan woke up to this morning.

Zach still isn’t moving. A trainer comes onto the ice.

Dylan is paralyzed. He wants to be next to Zach, to hold his hand and comfort him, but he knows he can’t. Isn’t sure he could skate. Might actually be holding his breath.

The trainer is talking to Zach, and Zach appears to be responding. Dylan strains to hear, but it’s no use across the ice in a loud arena.

Zach raises to his hands and knees. The team doctor isn’t coming on to the ice. No one’s grabbing a stretcher.

Dylan lets out a shaky breath. However bad Zach’s hurt, it isn’t worst case scenario bad.

Zach stumbles to his feet and the crowd roars. Dylan wants to shield him, protect him from their eyes.

He skates towards Zach, needs to hear his voice.

“I love you,” he says, hand grazing the small of Zach’s back. It sounds like _‘You okay?’_

“Love you too,” Zach responds with a tight smile. Anyone else listening would hear, _‘Fine.’_

Zach heads off the ice and down the tunnel and Dylan… thinks he might throw up.

He’s useless after that.

He keeps glancing at the Jackets bench, hoping and dreading Zach will come back. He wants his boy to be either fine or be taken care of. He doesn’t want Zach pushing through an injury that had him laid out on the ice for several minutes, even though Dylan would, if it were him.

Dylan takes a couple more shifts before the end of the period, but they’re hazy.

Columbus scores. It feels like they’re avenging Zach and Dylan is rooting for them.

It’s odd how fucked up Dylan is by Zach getting hurt. Zach’s been hurt before, badly, even. But Dylan wasn’t on the ice then, or when he was hadn’t realized he was in love with Zach yet. Dylan’s been hurt before. It’s maybe easier when you don’t have to watch.

By the time they finally shuffle off of the ice at the end of the second, Dylan’s head is buzzing, _Zach, Zach, Zach Zach ZachZachZach_.

He doesn’t usually check his phone during games, he is a professional. But tonight he does.

There’s a text Zach’s sent to the family group text, his parents, brother, and Dylan.

_I’m fine. Wind got knocked out of me._

Dylan’s heart clenches. He thinks about how he held his breath as Zach struggled to breathe and tries not to read anything into it.

He texts the group back: _I’ve got him_ and switches to the text thread that is just him and Zach. 

The last text is one he sent yesterday afternoon: _Let me innnnnnnnnn_.

His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. He wants to press himself into Zach’s space and confirm with his own eyes and hands and mouth that Zach is intact.

 _Zach_ , he texts instead.

Zach responds almost instantly. _Honestly ok. C u out there_. 

Dylan’s first reaction is _no_. He doesn’t want Zach playing hockey, he wants him wrapped up in a ludicrous number of soft blankets in a dim room. Safe.

He makes a snap decision.

 _Coming home with you tonight_ , he tells Zach.

Once he’s sent the message, it feels like the inevitable outcome. Like, of course Dylan wasn’t getting on the team plane. He was taking Zach home and keeping an eye on him.

He puts his phone away so Zach can’t argue and tries to get his head in the game.

It is good to see Zach up and skating, even if Dylan would still rather he be somewhere safe.

Columbus roars for Zach when he takes his first shift. They love him. Dylan knows the feeling.

He finds himself holding back, pulling his checks. Not just against Zach, but against the whole team. All of the Red Wings seem to be. Either that or taking stupid penalties. Dylan wonders if it’s penance for hurting Zach, if the whole team is just as rattled as he is, or if they’re just still bad at hockey.

Columbus scores again, Zach’s shot deflected at the last second by Sonny.

Zach bellows. Throws his head back and laughs, joy written in the lines of his body. God, Dylan loves him.

And again, Columbus scores. Dylan doesn’t so much love the forced overtime, however. He wants to get Zach home and taken care of. Maybe feed him some soup or something.

Overtime is, at least, short. Detroit doesn’t need the point, would actively prefer not to have it, even, but Dylan’s just glad the game is over.

He takes maybe the fastest shower he ever has, is loitering outside the home locker rooms well before any of the Jackets start to wander out. Most of them ignore Dylan. A few - Zach’s friends - nod at him as they leave, high off the win that keeps them in a playoff spot.

Zach makes his way out eventually, moving carefully. His face does something complicated before settling into a neutral expression.

Sometimes Dylan wishes he hadn’t met Zach when they were kids. That they had a chance to fall in love instead of sort of growing up in love already. Their first kiss had felt inevitable, once Dylan finally got up the nerve, and everything since has kind of fallen into place.

Other times, though… Dylan wouldn’t be able to read the way Zach’s his eyes light up and his brows furrow and his mouth kind quirks before settling into almost indifference if they had been college boyfriends and only known each other a few years.

“Zach.” Dylan’s voice breaks in the middle of the name, surprising them both. Too many emotions to fit into a single syllable.

Zach steps forward, hugging Dylan carefully, and Dylan makes sure to keep his arms low around Zach’s waist. 

“I really am fine,” Zach says. “Just sore. You don’t have to stay.”

He doesn’t let go of Dylan, though. And like hell Dylan’s letting go of him.

Touching Zach is easing Dylan’s mind a little. But it’s not enough, it will never really be enough. Dylan needs more. To see Zach’s injury with his own eyes and convince himself it’s survivable.

“Please,” Dylan says quietly into Zach’s shoulder, “don’t make me go.”

Zach jerks up at the words - probably at how desperate Dylan sounds - and moves too fast. He winces and carefully straightens, stepping out of the embrace.

“You know you’re always...” Zach fumbles for a word, ‘welcome’ or ‘wanted’ maybe, but neither of those quite fit. “Of course you can stay. You just don’t have to.”

Dylan huffs, a snort of laughter or derision. “Maybe not for your sake, but I really do.”

They start making their way out of Nationwide.

Zach turns his head carefully to look at Dylan. “You were really scared, out there?”

“I’m still scared,” Dylan admits. “Like, I know we both play a full contact sport wearing knife shoes, I know we’ve both gotten hurt before. But. Zach. You were down for so long.”

Dylan looks away, focusing on the long hallway they’re walking down.

Zach steps closer, so their arms brush as they walk. They’d be holding hands right now if there weren’t still a bunch of people around and they weren’t technically still at their place of employment.

“I’m okay, though. I swear.”

Dylan follows Zach into the parking garage and over to his car.

“I believe you,” Dylan tells him as they get into the car. As they’re putting on their seatbelts and Zach’s starting the car he continues. “And I know you’re gonna get hurt again at some point. But tonight I just want to keep you safe.”

Zach puts a hand on Dylan’s leg.

“Driving one-handed is not safe,” Dylan points out. Zach laughs but doesn’t move his hand.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Dylan covers Zach’s hand with his own, laces their fingers together. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. Just. Let me take care of you?”

“You do,” Zach’s eyes cut over to Dylan and then back at the road. “I know you’re always on my side.”

“I am,” Dylan agrees. “And you’re always on mine. But I mean literally take care of you. Wrap you in blankets and feed you soup.”

Zach chuckles. “Okay. But I’m pretty sure there’s no soup at my place.”

Dylan squeezes Zach’s hand.

The roads are quiet this late, and they’ve both been playing hockey for three hours. A sleepy peace settles over them as they drive and Dylan thinks he could be happy like this forever, riding through the dark with Zach.

It’s not too long before they make it home. Dylan doesn’t live there, but he has a key and - even though it’s cheesy as shit - wherever Zach is feels like home.

Dylan lets Zach unlock the door and herds him inside. The door is barely closed before Zach is turning, pressing Dylan into the wall and kissing him.

It’s hard but not desperate, intense. Lips and tongues conveying things that words cannot.

Dylan’s got Zach, and Zach’s got Dylan, is going to let Dylan hover over him until Dylan settles back into himself.

Dylan takes the opportunity to slide his hands under Zach’s shirt, fingers pressing against skin, the warmth a small confirmation that Zach is whole and real and here.

Eventually Dylan pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Zach’s collarbone.

“Love you,” he says for the first time tonight, though it feels like all he’s been saying.

“Oh, babe, I love you too.” Zach presses a kiss into Dylan’s hair.

It feels dumb being comforted, Zach’s the one who actually got hurt.

Dylan lifts his head. Kisses Zach again, lightly. “We should get you settled. Did you get meds?”

“Just prescription-strength ibuprofen-“ Dylan scoffs. “They offered me stronger, but.”

Dylan gets it. Hockey players have a complicated relationship with painkillers, the smart ones anyway. 

He kisses Zach again. “You need another?”

“Kiss? Yes.” Zach leans in, brushes his lips against Dylan. Tender. “I’ll take another pill before bed.”

Dylan wants to argue, but Zach knows his body best. Instead he guides Zach to Zach’s own bedroom, urges him to sit on the edge of his bed while Dylan finds him sleep pants. He hands them to Zach, gets his fingers under Zach’s t-shirt. “Up.”

Zach lifts his arms, groaning as the muscles in his back shift against his injury, and Dylan slips off his shirt. He kisses the top of Zach’s head when he is done, urges Zach to stand and turn.

The mark between Zach’s shoulderblades is already blue and swollen, a goose egg in the shape of a puck. Dylan exhales against Zach’s skin and Zach shivers.

“What’s the verdict?” Zach asks. “Am I going to make it?”

Dylan wants to touch the bruise, kiss it. But he doesn’t want to hurt Zach, so he kisses Zach’s left shoulder instead.

“If you’re playing with a herniated disc or something, I will murder you.”

Zach leans into his touch. “You wouldn’t do that. You like me too much.”

He doesn’t deny playing hurt, though.

“Zach,” Dylan protests, but he lets the subject drop. Zach’s a grownup and Dylan can only control what he can control. He skims his hands down Zach’s arms, laces their right hands together.

He loves Zach’s skin, loves touching him.

Fingers awkwardly intertwined, Dylan tugs Zach back out into his living room, settles him on the couch. His instinct to wrap Zach in blankets is thwarted by the fact that the only blanket Zach seems to own is the comforter on his bed.

At least Dylan has an idea what to get him for Christmas, he guesses.

Dylan kisses Zach again, soft and helpless. Zach leans in, lets Dylan do what he needs. He presses a kiss to Zach’s forehead and heads into the kitchen.

As Zach had predicted, there is no soup or soup-adjacent food in his kitchen. Dylan settles for making them both a couple of ham sandwiches.

“Really?” Zach asks when Dylan brings out the plate. He eats his sandwiches anyway and lets Dylan arrange him in optimal cuddling-with-no-contact-against-Zach’s-upper-back position.

Dylan winds up sitting between Zach’s legs, leaning against his chest.

Zach tugs on the hem of Dylan’s shirt, chewing and then swallowing in his ear. “Why is this still on?”

“Because we’re not messing around,” but he leans forward to pull his shirt off anyway. He tosses it on the ground and Zach makes a pained noise but ignores the mess to tug Dylan closer and nuzzle at his neck.

The skin to skin contact settles something in Dylan.

“We _weren’t_ messing around,” Zach corrects abandoning the last few bites of sandwich to run a palm up Dylan’s stomach and bite at his neck.

Dylan sighs a little, tilts his head to the left to give Zach better access. Zach hums an approving noise into Dylan’s skin. It makes him shiver. He can feel Zach’s smile.

He nips at Dylan once more before raising his head. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Dylan twists so he can look at Zach. “Yeah?”

He hadn’t been sure. Zach’s been very tolerant of him tonight. He knows he’s always welcome, but wasn’t sure he’d been wanted.

“Dyl,” Zach leans forward to kiss him. Holds him tighter. “Babe. Yes.”

And that is more than Dylan can take. He stretches his legs over Zach’s right one, tangles his fingers into Zach’s hair, and kisses him like Dylan is drowning and Zach is oxygen.

“You have good hair,” Dylan mumbles, running his hand through Zach’s thick dark hair.

“Thanks,” Zach laughs at him, but he pushes up against Dylan’s hand, encouraging him to continue petting.

Zach’s successfully convinced him that he is basically fine, that he’s not going to break if Dylan touches him. That Dylan won’t break either.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on twitter or Tumblr @pressdbtwnpages


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